


Supernovae

by City Middle (quodpersortem)



Series: Stellar Evolution [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, mild alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/City%20Middle
Summary: Kyle and Stan knew this was going to happen for a hell of a long time--and because there's no time like the present, it will happen today.Kyle's POV





	Supernovae

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately kept their ages vague to suit any reader's preference, but from my perspective, they're 18+

Right when Kyle thinks he might need to sneak away from the school dance, Stan sides up to him. He’s grinning and wagging his eyebrows, and Kyle knows _exactly_ why—he can see the outline of Stan’s flask in his pocket.

“I got the fucking key to the school bus,” he grins.

“How—“ Kyle tries to ask, but Stan grabs his arm and drags him towards the exit before he can finish the question.

There’s not necessarily a rule against going outside, but it’s not encouraged either. They climb over the fence to the parking lot next to the school, dark and deserted—only a scattering of cigarette butts shows where the goth kids tend to hang out.

The bus is parked towards the end of the lot, and Stan’s got his cell phone out to shine a light on where they’re going. The yellow looks gray in the slither of moonlight that peers through the clouds, and Kyle takes over the phone so Stan can find the lock.

“Aaand... We’re in,” he whispers.

It’s only then that the true weight of the situation sinks in for Kyle.

Things have been changing between them. He doesn’t know when it started—there’s no way he can pinpoint the first time he thought _oh_ when seeing Stan or the first time their eyes lingered too long. It’s progressed from there, to the touch of Stan’s hand on the small of Kyle’s back when they enter a classroom and letting their hands brush together when they sit side-by-side on the school bus.

Nothing more has happened yet, but sweet Jesus—does Kyle ever want it to.

He follows Stan to the back of the bus. Stan doesn’t sprawl over the couch—instead, he sits upright and pushes his feet against the back of the chair in front of him. Kyle takes it for the cue it must be and sits down next to him.

“I have whiskey,” Stan says, and Kyle nods. “You want some?”

“Sure,” he says. Stan wriggles around a little, fishes the flask from his pocket. It’s small—but they don’t have many opportunities to drink so it should be enough.

When Stan hands it to Kyle, he lets his hand linger for a moment before trailing his fingers down over Kyle’s wrist, over the pattern of his dress shirt. They’re still looking at each other and Kyle’s heartbeat sounds like thunder in his ears.

“That party fucking sucked,” Stan says. The words come out quiet and Kyle can hear Stan’s nervous—probably as nervous as Kyle is. His hands are sweating and he’s glad it’s dark because his cheeks feel hot. He doesn’t think Stan would mind that, but him not seeing does boost Kyle’s confidence a little.

“Yeah,” Kyle replies. He puts the flask to his lips and takes a couple of deep drags from it—he knows that a cough won’t come until he stops drinking.

His leg is touching Stan’s and after he’s done and hands back the flask, he seeks out Stan’s hand. His palms are clammy even if it’s not particularly hot outside, but Stan’s fingers entwine with Kyle’s like they’ve done this millions of times before.

In Kyle’s mind, they _have_. Maybe in Stan’s too.

Stan coughs after he lowers the flask, and Kyle can’t help but smile, another rush of butterflies surging through his stomach.

Then Stan’s looking at him again, grinning dopily as his thumb rubs over the back of Kyle’s hand. “So,” he says.

“Yeah.”

This has been inevitable.

“Are we going to—“ Stan’s even breathing falters for a moment and then he starts to laugh. It’s pure exhilaration mixed with nerves, and Kyle laughs back at him.

“Yeah,” Kyle nods. He tightens his fingers a little and he can feel Stan squeeze back. “This was always going to happen, wasn’t it?”

Stan ducks his head a little and bites down on his lip. Another laugh tugs at Kyle’s mouth as Stan shrugs and nods. It’s strange to be here now, to know that none of it was imagined and it’s going to be coming to a head soon.

“I feel like I might die,” Stan giggles. “Like, fuck—I don’t know. I’m scared?”

“Me too, dude,” Kyle tells him. He’s starting to lean in, catching Stan’s eyes again. “It’ll be fine.”

He can feel Stan’s breath hot against his lips, and then they move in together.

Their first kiss is slow and tender. They’re only pressing their lips together but it sets every nerve in Kyle’s body on fire—he can feel Stan squeezing his hand again and then he’s letting go to wrap his arm around Kyle’s back.

They break apart for a moment to take their time to look at each other. They’re grinning again—for Kyle, this was better than expected, and judging by the look on Stan’s face he’s thinking the same thing.

When they move in again, Kyle feels the wet press of Stan’s tongue and he tries it out, tastes Stan and the whiskey and all lingering doubt melts away. They’re in sync, moving perfectly together as the kiss deepens and Kyle’s breath hitches in his chest.

Stan’s fingers are cool when they slip under Kyle’s dress shirt, and he carefully brings his hand up to cup Stan’s face. He feels the dry skin, the incoming hint of stubble underneath and kisses Stan harder because he doesn’t know what else to do—all he wants is _more_ , all he wants is for this to last forever.

He’s not sure how long they spend kissing, occasionally taking a short break to swallow and breathe fresh air before diving back in.

Finally they break apart to look at each other. Kyle sees the way Stan’s lips glisten in the hint of moonlight, swollen and red and no doubt as tingly as his own, and gives him another close-mouthed kiss because he wants to and now he _can_. As an afterthought, he gently kisses the tip of Stan’s nose, feels the cool skin under his mouth and hears Stan gasp out a quiet giggle.

There’s a calm in Kyle’s stomach he hasn’t felt around Stan in a very long time, like something has settled even if he didn’t realize that something was out of place.

Stan keeps his arm around Kyle’s back and Kyle sags into him, resting his head on Stan’s shoulder. He can feel the way their hair rubs together and the way Stan sighs. After a while, Stan turns his head and presses a kiss to the top of Kyle’s head.

He feels like he’s floating away, free of time and space, occasionally moving his head up to kiss Stan again because he doesn’t think he’ll ever have enough of that.

It’s then that his phone buzzes in his pants—when he takes it out, he sees it’s his alarm clock. _End party, yay!_

Stan sees it too and laughs. “Didn’t think you’d want to get out of here that fast.”

“I thought we’d spend the night getting drunk on spiked punch,” Kyle shrugs as he sits up. Stan removes his arm and he immediately misses the weight and warmth of it.

Stan hums. “I did like this better.”

“Me, too.” Kyle can feel the words trail off as he presses close to Stan again—one last kiss before they have to sneak back into the cafeteria. He wishes that they’d had more time, that they could leave each other something more permanent than this before going home.

He pulls away from Stan a little abruptly, and promptly asks, “Can I give you a hickey?”

Something shifts in Stan as he stares at Kyle. Then he starts to pull at his tie and says, “Hell _yeah_ , dude. Go for it.”

He chooses a spot that will be invisible if Stan wears a sweater.  He sucks at the skin, building up the pressure, and when he gently worries his teeth across the tender flesh Stan moans. Kyle’s body responds to it right away, but he ignores it and finishes up his job.

He rubs the dampness away with his finger and watches how the bruise starts to blossom red. It’s small, but it’s definitely there and Kyle’s possessive streak has been satisfied for now too.

There’s no time for Stan to return the favor. “I’ll give you one tomorrow,” he promises.

They hold hands walking up to the school, trying the kitchen entrance. It’s open and they slip inside—and Kyle would love to push Stan up against one of the counters, but he can’t. The glaring lights flicker on and Stan looks like a mess. His hat’s on askew and his lips are swollen and red—Kyle gave him some stubble burn on his chin.

They do straighten out their shirts and Stan does his tie back up, hiding the mark Kyle left on him.

Then they enter the cafeteria. It’s emptying out, and they join Kenny by the punch bowl. Kenny takes one look at them and it’s clear that he knows what they’ve been up to.

“Literally no one’s gonna get fooled by you pretending you snuck out to drink,” he tells them easily. “But congratulations on sorting yourselves out, I guess.”

Stan is smiling his dumb dopey smile again and Kyle knows he’s looking at Stan like they’re total goners for each other. Kenny’s right, there’s no hiding this.

He reaches out for Stan’s hand. Their fingers latch together, and they don’t let go.

 


End file.
